Free Her Sicilian Arrangement by Hannah-Lee Hitchman Page B

him and his father. Torre had
been angry about the entire act saying that Marco was ungrateful
and he had not grown him to think that he was better than anyone.
Alessandra had tried many a times to quash the whole argument but
it never worked because Torre Mussolini was the type of man who
listened to no one.
    Marco gently knocked on the door to his father’s office once
and then opened it to see him still peering through the window, his
back turned to him. “I would like to speak to you,” Marco muttered,
shoving his right hand in his right pocket and then relaxing to
greet his father’s angry face.
    Torre turned to look at him and then removed the cigar from
his lips, and put it out by stubbing its lit side in the ash tray.
“It’s been a while since you’ve even uttered a word in my
presence…and yet you are here in my house saying you want to talk
to me,” he grounded out and then looked up at Marco. “Let me tell
you something…if I want to talk to you, I will call for you. You
don’t come in here ordering me to talk.”
    Marco felt as if he had been by a truck and if it wasn’t for
his steadfast self-control, he probably would have stormed out of
the room. “Say whatever you wish, Father. I have decided to put
this all behind me because I have grown and I wish not to waste my
time on idle vendettas.”
    Torre laughed and then finally dropped the cigar from his hand
on the tray. “Is that so? Well, I shall put this behind me for now
because no matter what, I would never seek to insult my family in
the presence of others. I shall wait till your lady friend is
absent.”
    “ That ‘lady friend’ is my fiancée,” Marco said, keeping the eye
contact locked. “Her name is Meagan.”
    “ Well, I have to say, she is very beautiful. Where did you meet
this American?”
    “ That is my business.”
    “ Ahh…I see you are still your father’s son. But let me remind
you, arrogance is most often a man’s downfall.”
    “ And
so are cigars…”
    Torre glanced at the ash tray and then back at his son. “I see
your humour is getting better,” he chuckled.
    “ And
your health isn’t.”
    “ Let
me worry about my health.”
    “ I
am not worrying about your health,” he lied. “It is Mother who I am
concerned about. When you slowly kill yourself, she’ll still have
us, but she’ll need you.”
    “ But
at least I would finally be out of your life,” Torre added, with a
smug look on his face. “I know it is what you want. If you’d like
to know…I have forgiven you a long time ago, Marco. But that does
not mean I am not still upset over the entire matter.”
    “ I
did nothing for you to be upset over. I—I simply did not want to
own vineyards. I never said that I was above doing so…I just wanted
to make my own success. Surely you can understand that.”
    “ I
do understand…but time does not justify your past actions. You were
the one who left in your youthful obstinacy.”
    “ I
had no choice. You were treating me as if I was a boy.”
    “ In
my eyes you still were!” Torre crackled, his voice booming
throughout the room. Marco frowned at him, brushing the lock of his
hair that was now hanging before his eye. “You—you were my
favourite. As much as I hate to admit it, you still are! But you
condone any fatherly advice I offered.”
    “ That is not true…”
    “ My
father—your grandfather, Emilio Mussolini, was a very wealthy man…a
lot more than even I am today and he had never granted me the
privileges that I have granted you or your siblings. I expected you
to be grateful that I wanted to pass on my accomplishments to you.
And even if you didn’t…at least pretend for my sake.”
    “ That’s the point, Father,” Marco muttered. “I am not the type
to pretend.”
    Torre sighed lowly and then walked back around to the back of
his desk and sat down. “I have things to do. This conversation has
come to an end.” Marco opened his mouth to utter something and then
halted